


IL VIAGGIO

by Anne_Fairchild



Category: Da Vinci's Demons
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Biromantic Demisexual, Child sexual abuse inferred, Emotional Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, past emotional abuse, physical comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 20:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17352251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anne_Fairchild/pseuds/Anne_Fairchild
Summary: Set just after the end of the series. Riario comes to Da Vinci for help, seeking changes in his life.





	IL VIAGGIO

**Author's Note:**

> Child/underage sexual abuse is a theme in this story, but *it is not explicitly written.* It is referenced to have occurred in the past. No blow-by-blow descriptions. There is one deliberately vague short abuse scene ‘in-the-moment’ that again is not explicitly written.

Upon opening the door, Da Vinci was met with driving rain of the kind that makes rivers of the streets in minutes, and the form of a soaking wet Girólamo Riario, who had gone from being regarded as the Monster of Italy to the Saviour of Florence seemingly overnight. Leo hadn’t seen him in at least two weeks. After Da Vinci indicated he should come in, Riario slipped inside after a backwards glance to see if he’d been followed. He stood dripping, breathing heavily. Leo looked through a strategic knot hole out into the street, then turned to regard his visitor.

“No one’s out there. The weather’s too foul. Come in and sit,” Da Vinci invited. After Riario followed, Leo regarded him keenly.

He was wet through in his no-longer-fine clothes and shivering with the cold. He had lost weight, and his eyes were dull. Leo wondered if the Sinner had been threatening to return.

“Wine?”

“Thank you. That would be most welcome.” Riario was struggling to keep his teeth from chattering. His eyes avoided Da Vinci’s. Leo poured the wine and handed it to him.

“Sit near the fire.” Leo indicated a stool close to the hearth. Riario moved with somewhat less than his usual grace and accepted the warmth gratefully. Steam began to rise from his clothes.

Da Vinci pulled a blanket from the corner chest and offered it to him. “You need to get out of those wet clothes, and lay them close to the fire to dry.”

Riario took the blanket, then stared at it in his hands, lost in his own thoughts.

“Your clothes - “ Da Vinci prodded quietly. Something was clearly wrong with Riario, but then when had things ever been ‘right’ for him since he’d known the man?

Riario sighed, nodded, and began to pull off his boots. His cold fingers, however, slipped and would not grasp the leather. He kept trying, and failing. Da Vinci sat on the floor and pulled them off with a few tugs. He motioned for Riario to remove his shirt and he complied a bit awkwardly, his hands still not working properly.

When it came to his trousers, Riario was hesitant. Da Vinci was no longer surprised at this, it was a behaviour he’d exhibited in the past whenever he needed to shed his clothing and someone else was present. Leo supposed it was a legacy of his devotion to the Church.

The buttons were beyond his stiff fingers, however. Da Vinci motioned for him to stand, which he did reluctantly. Matter-of-factly, Leo undid the buttons and pulled the wet leather down to his feet, where he stepped out of the trousers. He was still wearing an undergarment, but Leo knew better than to suggest he remove it. He steadied him to sit again and dropped the blanket around him.

“There’s no need to talk now, warm up and eat first.”

Da Vinci gave Riario more wine and fed him, and also fed the fire so it heated the room well. Leo filled the silence with talk about what he had been doing and Florentine gossip. Something had driven his once-enemy to his door, and it probably wasn’t a small something. Close to an hour went by before he stopped shivering and slowed his eating and drinking.

“Thank you.” His voice was not entirely normal, but didn’t seemed altered by any residual conditioning by the Enemies of Man. His gaze was his own, and troubled.

“Are you all right? Do you need my help?”

“I don’t know if anyone can help me,” Riaro muttered darkly.

“Yet you came here,” Leo reminded him. “You sought me out. Talk to me,” he coaxed.

Riario’s eyes were neither angry nor arrogant, but sad and a bit lost.

“I seem to be in yet another trap _artista_ , partly of my own making,” he admitted. “I want to leave Rome and Florence behind, and I need more than my own strength, which I seem to lack, since - “ He stopped, staring at his hands. Neither of them needed him to say it. _Since_ _I_ _lost_ _my_ _mind_ _and_ _became_ _a_ _murderer_ _in_ _the_ _name_ _of_ _the_ _Church_. _The_ _same_ _Church_ _that_ _abandoned_ _me_ , _as_ _did_ _my_ _father_ _and_ _the_ _true_ _pope._

“You don’t want to be Florence’s conscience, under a new Pope?” Da Vinci asked.

Riario shook his head.

“With the life I’ve lived and the things I’ve done, who am I to act as anyone’s conscience? The new Pope will want no reminders of my father or any of my father’s House around him. He’ll want to make peace and calm the waters. My face and my name will hardly do that,” he rasped.

“Save the masses by my personal pain and penance, and suffer yet more to come for the sake of mankind? I think not. I don’t know what I want, but I don’t want to serve others through the Church any longer. I’m sick of all that’s required to do the bidding of men under the guise of what God wants. I’ve believed a lie, and lived it from birth. I can no longer pretend to know what God wants.” The admission stunned Da Vinci. The Church had always been everything to Riario, requiring blind obedience.

“It wasn’t _your_ lie,” Da Vinci countered. “You were raised to believe you were meant to submit to the will of the Church, to never question but to obey, and to serve God through one man. What we’re taught as children, we believe unquestioningly. As a man you were still manipulated by those beliefs, and still later tortured and given drugs so you would continue to do what others needed from you. You’ve been driven towards pleasing others all your life.

“You knew no differently as a child or as a man. You were abused, lied to, then twisted by others to do their bidding. It’s never been your faults or your lies, but theirs. You’re not to blame for not realizing the difference,” Leo returned softly.

“Am I not? I should have broken free long ago. Perhaps I lacked the will. Perhaps I’m as weak as those I have terrorized. Weaker than those who feared me.”

“If there’s one thing you aren’t, it’s weak. A weak man would not have survived in the New World. Weaker men would have let the darkness win. You fought harder than most others would have. And you fought for me.”

Riario stole a look at him, at the last statement. He hesitated before he spoke.

“I want to be free of my past life, and I don’t know how. You are the only one I know who might understand, and be able to help me. But perhaps I’m beyond help after all.”

“Are you serious in this?” Da Vinci asked, studying him.

“To leave my life behind and to start anew, yes. Everything else - I don’t know. There are so many things I don’t know any more. But if I no longer know what I want, I know what I don’t want.” Riario looked into the flames.

“I’m tired of killing; of bearing the responsibility for terrible acts. Tired of shame, and fear. I despise what I am. Perhaps what I want is someday not to hate myself, and for others not to hate me. Beyond that, I have not thought,” he admitted. “I know I should not expect you - “

“Will you listen to me? Will you let me guide you when I think it’s needed? That must be part of our agreement. We can’t be butting heads all the time like a couple of he-goats,” Da Vinci warned. Riario gave a small smile.

“I will listen, and try to heed your words as much as I’m able,” he agreed.

“You must trust me,” Da Vinci told him.

“I trust no one. It’s all that has kept me alive. I’m not sure I can break the habit; I’m not sure I want to.”

“Not true,” Leo countered. “You came here because you want to trust me. You would never have come here and confessed to me what you have otherwise.

“Whatever you tell me, I will not betray and I won’t judge you; I’ve had enough of that in my own life. You can tell me anything, or nothing, but I believe that telling another helps to heal,” Da Vinci finished quietly, putting a hand on the Count’s knee. He felt Riario tense at his touch, but he didn’t remove his hand.

“You…touch…too often; too much,” Riario whispered.

“It’s who I am. I touch everyone; I _feel_ in order to better understand the world and the people around me. I can’t change that. Not every touch is about sex, or power, or control. It’s also about things like friendship, compassion, and caring. You need to learn the difference, and that there is a difference,” Da Vinci counseled gently. “Not everyone wants to harm you or control you. Not everyone has dark motives. Making you feel threatened will never be my intent.”

Riario understood that ‘can’t’ meant won’t, and that because a motive wasn’t dark didn’t mean it was safe or that it wouldn’t harm. He also believed - certainly wanted to believe - that Da Vinci meant him no harm. And he knew that not meaning to harm and not harming weren’t the same.

“You don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t. But I hope to, if you’ll let me.”

“I don’t know if I can ever be…the person you want me to be. I don’t know. I don’t know,” Riario repeated hopelessly.

“And that’s all right. It’s all right, Girólamo, even if you can’t,” Leo assured him.

“How can you say that? I know..what you want; what you hope for between us. I’m not a fool. I may not ever be able to give it to you. I have not given freely of myself to anyone, except once.”

“It was always taken from you whether you wanted to give or not. You were forced to let others have their will, or forced to perform because it was expected, but you never had the choice.”

Riario regarded him with surprise.

“Yes.”

“I’ll only take what you’re able to give me freely,” Leo assured him. “Whatever you can or can’t give will be enough. It will be enough,” he repeated, covering Riario’s hands with his own. “I don’t want you to feel you must please me by doing something you don’t want to do. Understood? You’ll tell me no, and I’ll respect that, because I respect you. You are your own man, Girólamo.”

Riario’s instinct was to snatch his hands away, yet he felt reassured by Da Vinci’s gesture and his words. The very comfort he sought made him uneasy because he wanted it so much.

“Fear hobbles me,” he admitted.

“Then we’ll talk it through; work it through until you’re sure one way or the other. We’ll do it together. All right?” Da Vinci asked softly.

Riario swallowed, bowed his head for a moment, then looked into Da Vinci’s eyes. There was something there he didn’t want to acknowledge because it enticed him as much as it discomfitted him.

“Yes,” he agreed in a whisper.

“Good,” Leo smiled. “Your hands are freezing, hold them out to the fire,” he encouraged. Riario agreed with a half-smile and a nod, turning so the fire would warm him.

“First decision - where shall we go? What about France? I’ve always wanted to travel to France,” Da Vinci mused.

“Paris?” Riario suggested. “I have been curious about the city and its institutes of learning. The great cathedral of Notre Dame.”

“Paris it is. A long journey, my friend, and we won’t be traveling in the style you’re used to,” Da Vinci teased, not sure he would see the humor. Being teased was probably not something Riario often accepted in a positive spirit.

“Have you so quickly forgotten the voyage and journey to the Vault of Heaven?” Riario countered wryly, followed by “I have funds enough to buy us comfort when it suits, and I can obtain more. I do not come to ask this of you with an empty purse, _artista_.”

“And I don’t accept the journey, or your company, for any purse,” Leo returned quietly, holding his gaze.

“Understood.”

Riario didn’t know what Da Vinci saw in him that Zita had also seen. He knew that he could develop feelings for Da Vinci like those he had for Zita - knew that he probably already had such feelings. But the dynamics of their relationship were very different. Zita had been female and his property to do with as he wished. He had done the deciding, the taking. Da Vinci was a free man, and no one would ever control him.

The Church also taught that physical relations between men was a grave sin. If that was so, he reflected, there were many such sinners, and some who sinned with impugnity within the Church itself in the name of God. He thought of the boys he had killed at his father’s behest. Boys like he had once been, with as little choice as he’d had with the monks who presided over him. He shivered.

“Unhappy memories?” Da Vinci had been watching him. Riario sighed in acknowledgment.

“I cannot - “ He shook his head.

“When you’re ready. If you’re ready.”

Rising, Da Vinci brushed his hand lightly over Riario’s hair, moving past him and up the stairs. “There’s a bed up here. You can share it with me - it’s certainly more comfortable than in front of the fire. But the fire is warm and there are blankets here. It’s up to you.”

“I - must think, and will be restless. I would not wish to disturb you.”

“And you can change your mind,” Da Vinci added as he ascended the stairs.

Riario arranged his now mostly dried clothing in front of the fire, lay down on it, and pulled the blanket over himself. He stared into the flames, sleepless at first despite the warmth and the soothing sound of now-soft rain. What had he done, surrendering himself to Da Vinci - for both were aware that he had, regardless of the careful words between them. Leaving Italy and any remaining protection of the Church, traveling to another land with no possessions and no plan, only Da Vinci. If it was a complete misadventure, he’d have nothing and no one and be a very long way from anywhere he’d called home.

He had thought about it, and realized that whenever he thought of Da Vinci, he had the same feeling inside he’d had in his time aboard ship with Zita. A feeling of safety, like being wrapped in a warm blanket. As if he could let down his guard and simply be himself. He wanted to be the person Zita and Da Vinci saw, but he wasn’t sure how; he could only try.

He thought of Da Vinci’s simple touching of his hair as he walked by and how it pleased him, regardless of his protest about too much touching. He wondered if the _artista_ knew. Yet there also remained the shadow of the kind of touch he did not seek. Zita had awakened something in him he’d thought he would never feel - had not wanted to feel because it was safer not to, because it also brought back the bad memories. Still, he had to give their friendship and their half-hidden, half-acknowledged feelings for each other, a chance.

Leo stared at the ceiling, very aware of the man downstairs. He hadn’t really been able to get the Count out of his mind since they’d both been victimized by the Enemies of Man and had saved each other from the Labyrinth. They were so alike, he and Riario. Both unwanted, unloved bastards, whip-smart, curious about the world, cynical but hopeful. Although he’d always felt hard done by in his life, Leo had begun to realize that life had been much rougher on Riario than on him; at least he had had free will and the ability to live doing mostly as he pleased, and he’d always had friends who supported him. Riario had been in one kind of cage or another his entire life, existing in an emotional vacuum. No wonder feelings frightened him.

Yes, he hoped Riario would some day desire him as a lover; he had known that since their struggles in the New World. He’d also deduced that Riario had issues in that area for reasons he could only guess. And he’d been honest enough tonight to admit as much.

Yet Leo had come to feel more than physical desire for Riario. He craved an emotional intimacy with the man that he hadn’t worried about or hoped for in his years of bedding both men and women. He wanted more with the Count than Zo’s simple fucking. He wanted to be there for him and care for him, even if nothing physical happened between them. Yes, he thought again, clear in his mind, even if all he desired between them didn’t come to pass. If Riario had new feelings to deal with, so did he.

                                                                                   ***

It was quiet downstairs when Da Vinci woke. He was half afraid he’d find Riario gone when he descended into the workshop. Instead, he found him dressed and staring into a small fire.

“I have regretfully used most of your wood. We’ll have to buy more,” Riario apologized.

“It’s fine. I was getting low.” There was awkward silence between them in the light of day.

“I’ll get something for us to eat. I don’t think it’s wise for you to be seen in the street, if you want to disappear. If you still want to - “

“I haven’t changed my mind, _artista_. Have you?”

“No,” Leo returned firmly. “When I return, we need to talk about the journey, and I have to start saying my goodbyes. It’s not quite as simple for me to slip away.”

“I don’t want to tear you from your friends, and the home you’ve made here. If you wish to stay, I’ll understand.”

“While I’ll miss them, this city now holds as many bad memories for me as it does good ones. I need to travel somewhere new. New experiences and new sights will stimulate my imagination. It’s time for a change.”

Da Vinci returned in half an hour with a loaf of bread, some cheese, and a few bottles of beer, which he shared with Riario.

“You’ll have many things you’ll wish to take with you, from your workshop.” Riario’s gaze and hand swept the building.

Da Vinci shrugged. “Most of it is written out in my notebooks, and in diagrams. Building more models can always be done, with help.” He cast a hopeful gaze at Riario. “And please, don’t protest that you’re not clever enough or skilled enough.”

Riario smiled slightly. “You have thought of every possible need, difficulty or objection, _artista_.”

“I’m sure I haven’t, and something will confound us on the road somewhere.” Da Vinci shook his head with a smile. “I had thought of a wagon, but it could delay us or cause difficulties. Riding, with a third horse as a pack animal, seems the most practical,” he offered.

“That is reasonable,” Riario agreed.

“What do you have that must be packed?”

“Nothing. I want no reminders of my past.”

“Well, you’ll need different clothes, as well as a change of them, and bedding. And we’ll need something to eat and drink from on the road. I can guess at what would serve you, but you might want to choose your own,” Da Vinci offered.

“But as you said, I don’t want to be recognized in the streets.”

Da Vinci regarded him thoughtfully. “Shaving off your beard would go a long way in disguising you.”

Riario registered both surprise and discomfort. “Without it, I would not feel…whole,” he protested.

He didn’t need to say more. A beard was a sign of manhood, and with Riario there were layers upon layers to his history that added complexities. Losing his beard would also cause him to lose at least one layer of protection, and he was already feeling exposed.

“It isn’t forever. Once we’re far from here, a week’s ride or more, it won’t be necessary,” Leo reminded him. Riario finally shrugged and nodded in acceptance.

“Will you do it then?” he asked.

Da Vinci was slightly surprised, but for the Count to trust him in this pleased him. It boded hopeful, he thought.

Riario tried to sit up straight and not to pull away from Da Vinci’s closeness. The razor on his face and at his throat bothered him less than the body inches from his, warm and alive. The underlying scent of the man, that which identified him, both frightened and reassured him; he didn’t comprehend how he could want to get up and run away, yet at the same time was drawn to Da Vinci so strongly. It wasn’t a sexual urge - at least he didn’t think it was, exactly. The _artista_ radiated a confidence and a strength that were very appealing. He was irritated by his own fear, and was still willing to continue into a very different kind of labyrinth all the same.

When he was finished, the face which looked up at Leo seemed closer to Nico’s age than his own, uncertain and vulnerable - and more beautiful even than before. He wanted to take the lean body into his arms and protect him from whatever might befall them during their journey and afterwards. But not yet; perhaps not ever. The thought saddened him.

A small supply of firewood was arranged for; they would be gone in a day or two. The clothing Da Vinci suggested was less on the order of Riario’s rich, expensive black fabrics and a bit plainer and with more leather; a man more difficult to categorize. The other traveling items were bought, as well as saddle bags. Lastly, three horses were purchased. Da Vinci acceded to Riario’s expertise with horseflesh in their choosing.

After they had returned to the workshop, Da Vinci went out again in search of his goodbyes. There was no one for Riario to inform that he was going; he knew no one alive who would care except perhaps Signora Cereta and he wouldn’t see her as he was now; he would only disappoint her. Let her remember the handsomely turned out young aristocrat glowing with the zeal of the Church, rather than the plain uncertain wanderer-to-be.

When Da Vinci returned, he told Riario that Nico wished them luck, as did Vanessa. He said nothing of his friend Zoroaster, the rough-and-tumble trickster who Riario knew would love to see him dead. He wondered if he knew, whether Da Vinci would tell him, but it was none of his affair.

Tomorrow they would pack their belongings and purchase provisions, and set out before the following dawn. After a meal, they sat in relative silence before the fire as darkness fell. Riario was not one for small talk, and Da Vinci knew he must have a head full of unhappy thoughts and memories. There would be time enough to draw him out on the road. He chose to sleep in front of the fire again, while Leo went upstairs.

                                                                                   ***

Da Vinci was deciding how best to pack and protect his notebooks and drawings, and Riario was rolling his clothes and blankets up into the smallest possible bundles for the horses to carry. Two days’ simple road provisions were included, should they not come across a place they could purchase food and drink.

“Leo! Open up, Leo - let me in! What the FUCK, Leo?” There was a loud pounding on the door; Zoroaster.

“You might want to go upstairs until this is over,” Da Vinci sighed.

“I’m not afraid of him.”

“There are times that any man should be,” Da Vinci warned, heading for the door.

“What the FUCK is this about you and the Devil’s spawn leaving Florence together? Were you going to crawl away without telling me?” His bulk filled the room.

“Calm down, Zo. I looked for you yesterday but you were nowhere to be found - sleeping off a night of drunken whoring I think? I would have looked for you again today,” Da Vinci explained quietly.

“Once you would have joined me in a night of drunken whoring,” Zo reminded him.

“Yes, I would, once. These days, probably not.”

“And what is it with you and HIM?” Zo growled, pointing at Riario and moving towards him.

“We both want to leave Florence - leave Italy.”

“Leo, I’d go anywhere with you, you know that.”

“But you wouldn’t go with him.” Da Vinci indicated Riario.

“Over my dead body.”

“Which is why you’re not coming with us.”

“US? When did you and the crazy murderer become ‘us’? Leo, what the hell is wrong with you? What happened to you-and-me us?”

Da Vinci regarded Zo sadly.

“You’ve been my good friend, Zo. I value your friendship and I always will. But there’s never been an ‘us’, and there wouldn’t ever be,” he revealed.

A part of Riario wished he wasn’t hearing this, but another part of him was rooted to the spot.

“I would be whatever you wanted, all you’d have to do is ask.”

“I haven’t asked for a reason, Zo. You’re my friend. I didn’t want you to be more.” There, it was out in the open at last. Zo’s eyes narrowed in hurt, then narrowed further as he glared at Riario.

“You can’t mean to tell me you want to fuck him? That you want him as a lover? He’s tried to kill us how many times? Sweet Jesus Leo, how has he bewitched you?” he demanded.

“By not trying to in the least. By expecting nothing from me. There is more to life than fucking, Zo. There are feelings that aren’t all physical. Sometimes, there’s just…more.”

If Da Vinci had turned just then, he would have seen a surprised softness in Riario’s eyes at his words.

Zo’s eyes flashed, and he moved towards Riario.

“Zo. If you hurt him - if you kill him - it still won’t mean I want you in my life..that way,” Da Vinci cautioned. “It won’t get you what you want; nothing can. It isn’t there. I’m sorry, my friend. I am, truly sorry,” he sighed, shoulders drooping. Zo stood glaring at both of them for a moment, than spat in anger at Leo’s feet, spun around, and was gone.

Da Vinci slumped to a bench, head in his hands. “Dammit. Dammit.”

Riario approached him slowly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to come between you.”

“It’s not you - not your fault,” Leo sighed. “Part of that conversation has been coming for awhile. I was just too much of a coward to say it. But I could wish you hadn’t heard the rest - what he thinks.”

“You were both honest in your feelings. And what he thinks is not important to me. It’s your thoughts that matter.”

“Thank you.” Da Vinci sat silent for the better part of an hour before he resumed his sorting and packing, subdued. Riario felt he should say something, but since he knew nothing about Da Vinci’s history with Zoroaster, he understood that whatever he might say most likely wouldn’t help.

After an evening meal and some discussion about which would be the best route to begin their journey, Riario was ready to sleep, thinking about their very early rising. Da Vinci, however, made no move to go upstairs. He only stared into the fire, lost in memories. Eventually, Riario was moved to take action.

“You need to get some sleep, _artista_. I will go with you,” he offered. Da Vinci looked up at him for a moment, slowly coming back to himself in the present.

“Yes. All right,” he agreed with the trace of a smile.

The straw pallet was large enough for two, and of course softer and cleaner than the hearth. Da Vinci spread old blankets over the straw, and they each had a blanket to cover themselves. He was restless in the darkness, his breathing audible. After some time, his head rested against Riario’s side, barely touching.

Riario felt both his need and his reluctance to expose it. One hand sought out Da Vinci’s and twined it with his own. Neither of them said anything to the other. Eventually Leo’s breathing grew quieter and he slept. Perhaps, Riario thought as he too drifted off, I may be of some comfort to him, even so.

                                                                               ***

They rose before dawn and saddled and packed the horses. Da Vinci had left instructions about the contents of the workshop and its remaining rent with Nico. He allowed himself a few moments reflection of the place he’d called home for several years and its memories both good and bad, then turned and mounted, and they headed for the road.

They were silent and watchful until the sun was well up. Beginning a pattern they would follow for their weeks of travel, they stopped to eat when the sun and their stomachs told them it was time. It was also the first of many days talking of Paris and the wonders they hoped to experience there.

They were still a little awkward with each other, but as each day passed Riario’s fear of Da Vinci lessened as he kept his promise and did not seek an intimacy Riario wasn’t comfortable with. Sleeping rough, however, especially during the cold nights, and the inevitable sharing of a bed when they paid for a roof over their heads, dictated a certain physical closeness that Riario accepted. He found after a time that he not only didn’t mind it, but felt more secure with Da Vinci sleeping beside him, their bodies providing heat for each other, sometimes touching.

Several days into their journey, after they’d ridden through a small village set in the midst of great swathes of farmland, a sound caught their ears in the still air. Riario held up a hand and motioned for Da Vinci to listen. It was a small child, screaming and crying in terror. Riario pointed to a horse up ahead, beneath a tree. There was something in his face that warned Da Vinci of trouble. He motioned that they should move closer on foot. Wary and uneasy, Da Vinci followed his lead.

As they grew closer, Leo’s stomach clenched. The child’s wails were heart-rending, full of pain and fear. He was scarcely aware of Riario. The scene unfolding before him brought bitter bile up into his mouth. Before he could react in any way, Riario was upon the man from behind and his throat was slit, blood spurting onto the terrified child. Riario picked the child up and instinctively cradled it, trying to soothe it.

“We have to get out of here. Now,” Da Vinci urged. “We have to put two or three villages between us and this man.” Riario, intent on the child, seemed not to hear him.

“Girólamo! We have to move on, quickly,” Leo repeated. Riario looked up at him, still a bit dazed at the speed with which he’d made his decision and taken action.

“Yes,” he rasped in stunned agreement. They returned to their horses, and he asked Da Vinci to hold the child while he mounted. Once he was on his horse he took it protectively in his arms and they rode on, leaving behind only the corpse of a man no one, Leo suspected, would mourn. They picked up their pace, but couldn’t ride full out because of the pack horse.

In one unforseen instant, Da Vinci understood something of Riario’s past. That he had immediately grasped the scene and responded with an instinct born of familiarity chilled Leo.

They rode on farther than they’d intended in order to be sure they were well away from any who might come after them, that day at least. The man hadn’t been dressed well but he’d had a horse, though perhaps it had belonged to his master; they couldn’t know.

A little more than an hour before dusk they could see the towers of a town in the distance. They stopped at a stream to rest, eat and drink, and take their first good look at their small charge.

It was a boy, Riario discovered beneath its rags, between two and three years old. He bathed it carefully in the stream, checking for injuries. Aside from some bruises and a few cuts and scrapes, he satisfied himself there was nothing seriously wrong with the child; they had intervened in time. Da Vinci was sure that Riario could not have had much experience with children. He seemed to be working on instinct, and a feeling of tenderness for the small victim. Leo ached at imagining Riario having shared the child’s experience, his helpless terror.

They sat on a blanket next to the bank. Riario gave the boy some watered wine, and bread soaked in the wine. The child stared silently at Leo. Mostly he clung to Riario, who seemed remarkably content with him doing so.

“I tell you I want to leave my former life behind, to learn a different way of living, and the first thing I do as we travel together is to kill someone.”

“Some people don’t deserve to live. I would have done the same, you only did it more quickly.”

“I didn’t do it only for this child, _artista_.”

“I guessed that.”

Riario looked at him sharply. He opened his mouth to speak, but eventually only let out a breath and changed the subject.

“We need to get a proper room for the night, some clothes and proper food for him to eat,” Riario announced, “and a name.”

“ _Come_ _ti_ _chiami_ , _bambino_?” Riario asked. The boy looked as if he was thinking. When Riario did not press him further, out popped “Marco” as he played with one of the buckles on Riario’s leather doublet.

“Let’s go on then, eh Marco?” the count smiled, rising. The child nodded, again fastening himself happily to Riario.

They secured a room at an inn in the town, and food and wine. Riario went out alone with the boy, and when they returned there were better clothes for Marco and some soft white bread and a little milk for him to fill his belly, and a sweetmeat.

In some ways, Riario seemed to have forgotten Da Vinci was there. He was endlessly patient with Marco’s clinging, coaxed him to eat, cuddled and rocked him; it was not difficult to imagine why. If Riario had had no one to comfort him as a child, he could reach back and comfort himself through Marco.

The boy slept between them, content in his saviour’s warmth. Da Vinci wondered if Riario had given or would give any thought to what the practicalities of keeping him might mean. He didn’t want to cause any more pain than Riario had already suffered, but questioned how wise it was to keep the boy.

They traveled on the next morning. The rhythm of their travel changed only slightly from before to accommodate Marco’s needs. Seeing them together and how wrapped up in Marco Riario had become, Leo reflected that he supposed he could be jealous, except that he was glad to see Riario smiling and happy, pleased that anything could make him so.

On the third day after they’d rescued Marco, they rode into a small town just as a funeral procession was winding its way towards the church. The coffin, Da Vinci realized, was child-sized. He asked one of the townspeople about the funeral and was told that the town baker and his wife had lost their five year old son, their only child, to an accident. When he related this to Riario, his expression immediately closed off.

“No!” He shook his head vehemently, clutching Marco to him.

“Your decisions are your own, Girólamo. Only think about the life he would have with us; with you - and what would happen to him if something happened to either of us. He’s very young to be without a mother, without a stable life. We may have even taken him from a mother who will grieve his loss. Think about that, for the boy’s sake, but do what you will,” Da Vinci advised. “Don’t worry - I’ll support you whatever you decide.”

Riario appeared nearly as conflicted as he had in the aftermath of his Labyrinth conditioning. He also turned silent and brooding, shutting himself off from Da Vinci. He took Marco with him on foot and disappeared for a long while after they had procured a room for the night, leaving Leo to sit and drink and hope they came back to him. Riario had said he would Iisten to him, but that was no guarantee he’d always follow his advice. If Riario was determined to keep Marco, they would keep him and hope for the best.

They didn’t return until it was full dark. They carried with them more clothes for Marco, some simple toys and another pair of shoes, and a bottle of wine and a meat pie for Leo.

Riario didn’t look at him, or speak except to Marco. He held the child on his lap indulgently, rocking him, petting him; doing his best to spoil him overnight. It was only when Marco slept soundly between them that he broke his silence.

“They are good people, well respected in the town. Loving parents who are destroyed at the loss of their only child. I…have spoken to them - told them of Marco. They believe he is heaven sent. No, I want to say, he is _my_ sacrifice! Not because I want to, but because it gives him a better life than I could give him. Because I’m not worthy of his pure love. I never could be worthy. It is another of God’s cruel jokes, _artista_ , to give him over to me to save and then make me choose, as I had to choose losing Zita.”

His quiet pain broke Leo’s heart. It was not lost on him that he was the cause of both Zita’s death and now the loss of Marco.

“You’d be a good father to him; anyone who has eyes could see that,” Leo began, “but he’s very young. If he were older it might be different, but we don’t know what’s to come in our lives a month from now, never mind as he grows. I’m sorry you’ve had to choose, Girólamo. I wish you didn’t need to.”

Leo also wished Marco didn’t lie between them, so he could reach out and comfort Riario, yet didn’t begrudge him his last night with the boy.

“I think…I could love him well.”

“You already do, my friend. He knows it, too. He won’t forget you.”

“Nor I him.”

                                                                                   ***

The next morning, Leo wondered if Riario had slept at all; he looked terrible - and terribly sad.

“I will take him. And..I will meet you on the road. Don’t wait for me; I’ll find you,” Riario attempted to reassure him. Leo looked directly into his large sad eyes.

“Please, don’t leave me, Giró,” he asked. “I need you as much as Marco does. Perhaps more.” Riario’s eyes widened, and his gaze softened. He bowed his head in acknowledgment, then scooped up Marco and was gone.

Da Vinci forced himself to linger in the room, and to pack and obtain food at a leisurely pace, hoping that he could still ride with Riario, not really wanting to lose track of him this day. Despite his silent agreement, Leo knew that Riario could still decide to fly. That he had nowhere to go except back to Rome or forward with Leo gave him a sad hope.

He rode out reluctantly, traveling long enough that he began to be seriously worried when there was no sign of Riario. Once, he almost turned back. At midday, he thought he saw dust far ahead, and urged the horses forward.

His horse cooling down from an obviously hard ride, Riario sat with his back against a tree, head down. Da Vinci dismounted and brought water to both Riario and the horse.

“I had almost given you up. I was beginning to be afraid you’d gone after all.”

Riario looked up at him.

“I cannot imagine why it should make such a difference. But I heard what you asked, and so I waited.” His eyes were red, though dry, and his voice was strained. He had let his grief out with no one around to see or hear him.

Leo sat beside him. For a long moment he said nothing, did nothing, letting the mundane sounds of nature soothe them both. But he felt he had to say something without delay, even though he wished for different surroundings in which to speak.

“What you wanted to give to Marco - what you gave him every minute he was with you - is what I want to give you, Giró. If I haven’t lived your pain, I still want to keep it from you.” He brought Riario’s hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles gently. The gesture unknowingly echoed his to Zita, and Riario closed his eyes in pleasure-pain at the sensation and the memory.

“I don’t know how to accept kindness, or affection. I have never been shown affection by anyone except Zita. I find it sometimes frightening,” he admitted.

“But you’re learning to accept it. You haven’t run away. That tells me you also want what I want to give you,” Leo murmured in his ear. He put an arm carefully about Riario’s waist, squeezing lightly.

“Yours is a very different world, _artista_ , to the one I’ve been living in. What if I can’t learn, no matter my intentions? What if I fail you - and myself - again? I’ve been punished for failure - and for anything to do with affection - all my life. I don’t think I can bear any more punishment, after this.”

“Giró, do you think Marco trusted you?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged.

“After what he’d lived through for who knows how long, you appeared from nowhere and scooped him up. He didn’t fight you and he didn’t run away; he knew you cared about him,” Leo explained. “Something inside him told him that, young as he is; he felt it. Will you allow yourself to feel me?”

“I want to; that, I know. I want to be with you, _artista_. I am, as they say, a moth to your flame. You burn very brightly.”

“I’ll do my best not to frighten you,” Leo promised. “It’s the last thing I want.”

“Be patient with me?”

Da Vinci smiled and placed a quick, soft kiss to his forehead. “Yes, of course.”

                                                                                  ***

After they had traveled as far as the waning light would allow, they came to a large town not far into France. Riario’s purse procured a comfortable room with stabling for their horses, and food. The town also had a bath house. After they’d paid the innkeeper’s young son to watch over their belongings, they ate and drank and headed to the bath house.

Riario stripped off and immersed himself in the steaming water. Da Vinci watched him with a slightly bemused smile on his face. The tenderness he felt and wanted to express freely warred with the need to go slowly.

“Relax and let yourself enjoy it. You’re permitted to enjoy things. No more denial for the sake of a God who’s never done anything for you. How does it feel?” Da Vinci coaxed, squeezing a sponge of hot water over Riario’s head.

“It’s pleasant of course, the warmth soothing my aches.” Riario sighed. “I might relax as you say, but the feeling is foreign to me. I must always be in a state of watchfulness.”

“Not always - not any more,” Da Vinci murmured at his shoulder. “I’m here to look out for both of us. You’re not alone any more, and you’re safe, Giró. You really are safe,” he repeated. Riario didn’t move away when he felt Da Vinci’s breath on his neck. A sigh that might have meant trust or agreement or both sounded breathlessly in the chamber.

They remained in the bath until the water was cold, then returned to the inn after obtaining another bottle of wine along the way. There was nothing much to do in the town after dark except get drunk and buy a few minutes’ fumble in a shadowed doorway. Da Vinci found that his sneer at Zo that he was no longer interested in going out drinking and whoring was truer than he’d imagined when he said it. If he thought of sex it wasn’t as often as before. His thoughts centered on Riario now, his own needs taking second place.

Riario had done surprisingly well to let Marco go, and had also chosen to remain with Da Vinci. He was being as honest as he was able, if his fear and uncertainty had kept him silent. Leo could only try, when the time was right, to encourage him to share his past pain and try to let go of it. This, he hoped, might be such a time.

“What Marco suffered - “ he began quietly.

“You cannot imagine,” Riario responded. “And yes, _artista_.”

“When you were as young as that?” Da Vinci ventured.

“I don’t know, but I don’t remember a time..before.”

“In the abbeys and monasteries? In the Vatican? _Holy_ men would do such things to children?” Leo asked in disbelief.

Riario laughed bitterly. “You have seen what my father was capable of - how he indulged himself and then left me to clean up his human inconveniences. If the holiest of men would do those things, why not those less worthy as well? It must be all right with God if His representative to Man does it.”

“Did…your father…” Da Vinci couldn’t bring himself to continue.

“Ahhh..no. But not out of any sort of finer feeling. I was simply of better use to him in other ways. I knew that if the time should ever come, it would be my death warrant.”

“But he knew that others - ?”

“There was nothing he didn’t know. It was of no consequence to him. It was not, I was told as I grew older, a thing of consequence. I was consecrated to the service of God in any way it was decided I would serve. It was as it was.” Riario’s voice had gone from flat to thick with unshed tears.

“Giró,” Leo coaxed softly, opening his arms. Riario hesitated for a moment, then his lips curved in the faintest of smiles and he nodded, moving closer, his head resting on Da Vinci’s chest. Leo stroked his hair, soothing, his thumb stroking down over the top of his shoulder, over and over, from one to the other and back again, gently. Waves of shivering washed over Riario, and he made small, indeterminate sounds.

“Does what I’m doing distress you?” Leo asked, somewhat puzzled after the initial willingness to come to him. He stilled his hand.

“No one but Zita has touched me for any reason other than to get something they wanted from me or to do me violence; sometimes both at once. Certainly not with any kindness or tenderness.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No. _No_.”

When Da Vinci had digested the protest and the rest of what Riario had said and understood its meaning, his throat constricted. He petted gently, realizing that the sounds coming from Riario were more of contentment than sadness.

“It will be different now. I can’t take it all away, but I can try to give you what you should have had all along. You are worthy of love and kindness, Giró. You are,” Leo repeated, hoping his hands communicated the same message.

They spoke no more of Riario’s past that night. He soaked up Leo’s touch and words of comfort mostly in silence, occasional sounds of pleasure escaping his lips. He didn’t just tolerate the contact as before, but now began to seek it, to make up for a lifetime without. Leo was more than happy to give him what he sought.

                                                                                  ***

A few days later, their comfort and ease in each other’s company slowly but steadily increasing, something neither of them had foreseen overtook them. It began as an ordinary day - up before sunrise and on the road. But as the day wore on, Da Vinci was not his usual easygoing, fairly loquacious self; he turned silent. Then his horse began to lag behind. Riario made a joke about it, but the expression on Da Vinci’s face was unreadable. The Count shrugged to himself and turned back to the road - until he heard a tell-tale thump that caused him to rein in and turn his horse around.

Da Vinci lay on the ground, unmoving. Riario went to him quickly, raising his head and breathing a sigh of relief that his eyes opened.

“ _Artista_ , what’s wrong?” Da Vinci seemed to be having trouble focusing on his face.

“Fever,” he whispered. The word hung in the air for a moment, then, panicking slightly, Riario put a hand to Da Vinci’s face and neck, recoiling at the heat that emanated from his body.

“Oh God. There may be no doctor - “

“Girólamo. I don’t know how long - “ Da Vinci swallowed painfully, “I’ll be able to speak to you. Find..a town, an inn. I have some medicines in my things. If we’re lucky there may be an apothecary. I’m sorry. I can’t..hold it off much longer. I need..your help.”

Riario shuddered, then sent up a very heartfelt prayer.

“Do you think you can get up on my horse, if I help you?” he asked.

“Try,” Leo wheezed. Riario sat him up for a moment, then helped him to stand. It took three tries before Leo was able to be boosted onto the horse, and Riario then mounted quickly to keep him from falling off again. With difficulty he caught the reins of the other two horses, and they once again began to make their way.

Riario felt it was something of an answer to his prayer when they came to a small town and not a sleepy village. He found an inn, and they helped him get Leo upstairs and into bed. He only revealed enough so that they thought Leo was merely drunk and had perhaps eaten some spoiled meat; if they knew he had a fever, they very well might not take them in.

Leo tossed and turned, shaking uncontrollably. “Water or small beer,” he whispered through clenched teeth, “for drinking. Water for washing. Need to get..the fever..down. Soup. Broth.”

“You said you had medicine - where is it? You must have some immediately,” Riario fussed.

“Do the other..first.”

Illness was something that Riario knew nothing about - nor did he know anything about nursing someone. He tried as hard as he could to beat back his rising panic. He did as Da Vinci asked and called for the water and beer, and some wine; he could water the wine if he needed to. He asked for clean rags and was greatly surprised when they brought some that were not very dirty; it was better than he’d hoped for.

He undressed Leo, and then washed him in the cool water they brought. The _artista_ groaned aloud at the feeling of blessed coolness on his fever-wracked body. By the time he was finished, soup and stew was brought to them. Riario helped Da Vinci sit up and tried to feed him the soup, which he forced himself to swallow. Leo’s eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with red, and sweat beaded again on his body in opposition to the cool cloths.

“In..that bag,” Leo pointed, coughing, “a vial. Bring it here. I..drink half, the rest tomorrow morning. If..need more, take the vial to..apothecary. They will know. Make me drink..water..anything. Must drink.”

“What else? What more can I do, _artista_? Leo!” Riario begged.

Da Vinci managed the ghost of a smile. “There is..nothing else..to be done. Giró..I can’t..can’t - “ With a sigh, he was lost to Riario for now. The realization that he might be lost forever froze Riario to the marrow of his bones. He sprang to the bag and found the vial. Bringing it to the bed, he raised Leo’s head and put it to his lips. He was able to rouse him enough to swallow more or less half the contents, then settled him back in the bed before carefully closing and preserving the rest of the liquid.

The night was spent trying to alternately cool Leo’s body or pile blankets on him when he suddenly went from fever to chills. Riario ceased to think, he only repeated his actions over and over, desperate for some sign of improvement. He never once thought of himself, or wondered if the fever would strike him. He didn’t, couldn’t sleep. There was only the cooling rags, and trying to make Leo drink and being gently persistent when he wouldn’t, all through the night.

At daybreak, although he was slightly quieter Riario did not really believe Da Vinci to be improved. He was still unconscious far more than he was conscious, and even when awake was not lucid but in the grip of the fever. He gave Leo the rest of the vial, then poured half a bowl of soup down his throat, the other half running uselessly into the bed. At least, Riario thought, it was something; better than nothing.

He forced some bread and beer down his own throat. When it was light enough, he sent for the innkeeper. He gave instructions to have a very trustworthy person of the innkeeper’s choosing take the empty vial to the apothecary and return with it full, as well as another. He scarcely looked at the money he provided; it must have been a formidable amount, as the innkeeper left straightaway, saying he would see to it himself.

When he returned within the hour, Leo was cleaned and Riario was cooling him down again. The money had also been enough, apparently, to keep the inkeeper happy as far as continuing to provide their room, by now obvious fever or not.

When Leo was quiet, Riario curled up beside him and was able to sleep for short periods. He woke to Leo’s still-unconscious tossing and plied him with more of the contents of the vial, more broth, and some watered wine. In the scattered moments when he wasn’t tending to Leo, Riario prayed. Although he was not really hopeful that God would answer the prayers of someone who had done the things he had done, he hoped that if God no longer valued him, he still valued the _maestro_.

That evening, Riario fancied that perhaps Leo’s skin was slightly cooler, his sleep slightly less restless, but he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t just his imagination. He tended to him as before, washing and cooling, pushing food and drink and the all-important medicine. He too slept, exhausted.

During the night he crawled under the covers, unable to keep himself from taking Leo into his arms, holding on fiercely to the man he would not, could not lose.

                                                                               ***

A cock’s crow woke Riario. Leo was still in his arms, and his body was not so warm. He took a few minutes to simply enjoy holding him. When he tried to sit up, Leo’s arms gripped him convulsively.

“ _Artista_! You are awake!” he gasped, overjoyed, clasping Leo to him again for a long moment. Then he did sit up, and looked down on Da Vinci. His eyes were red, but mostly open, and Riario could see that he knew him. He appeared very weak, however. Riario climbed out of bed, went to the door and shouted down that something to eat should be brought up to them.

“You are better?” he asked fearfully.

“Yes.” His voice was barely audible.

“I was so afraid. Afraid my ignorance and lack of skill would kill you,” Riario admitted.

“You did all you should have done.” Da Vinci reached up and touched his cheek. “Thank you for not abandoning me.” It was the second time during the journey that the _artista_ had expressed fear at the possibility that he might leave him and go off on his own. If his own fear was letting someone close to him, perhaps Leo’s fear was being left alone; he remembered what Leo had told him of his mother.

“I will not abandon you, _artista_. I have no wish to.”

Da Vinci’s recovery took some days. The fever passed off, but his weakness lasted longer. Riario went out into the town to find him more appetizing and strengthening food than the inn could provide. The first day he was out of bed, Riario was his crutch as well as his still-hovering nurse. For his part, Leo was very content for Riario to be his nursemaid. It was as comforting to have care as it was to give it, and the words he had spoken to Giró about not being alone, and feeling safe, applied to him as well.

When the time came for them to travel on, for several days Riario insisted on riding double with Da Vinci. He did not trust that his _artista_ would let him know if the weakness returned. Whether Leo rode in front of him or behind, the solid warmth of him, his simple breathing, comforted Riario. He was not even aware that he now thought of Da Vinci not as ‘the’ _artista_ , but as his _artista_.

As they journeyed on towards Paris and Riario’s trust continued to build, he made a greater effort to communicate more of what he viewed as his shameful past; it was painful, but having Da Vinci there to tell made it possible through the pain. Leo didn’t judge him.

There was something about their solitary evenings that allowed Riario to unburden himself and speak frankly with Da Vinci. They were quiet and peaceful together, surrounded by four walls, with nothing to interrupt and no one to hear. They were building an intimacy that Leo had hardly dared hope for.

As he became somewhat less afraid of doing or saying something that would trigger bad memories, Leo gradually ventured further when they lay in bed together. One night he offered soft, tender kisses to face and hair, and to a shoulder he carefully bared from Riario’s enveloping shirt. He was met with barely perceptible groans, and in the lamplight Leo saw that his lashes were wet.

“Giró? Are you all right?”

A muted snort huffed warmly against his chin.

“ _Artista_ , I am in the arms of a man who calls me by my name - even uses an affectionate version of it. The first has not happened often in my life, the second, never. I am touched and caressed with genuine affection. And..he kisses me, kisses my body with his mouth. His mouth! No one has done that. My body, that others have only used and soiled, is an object of his affection. There is I think,” he sighed, “less wrong with me every day in his company.”

“There is nothing wrong with you,” Leo returned quickly. He couldn’t safely say any more without his voice breaking, so moved was he by what Riario had revealed. Each new sad, painful thing he learned only reinforced his determination to give him what he needed.

“That you would say such a thing pleases my heart - the heart you have shown me I have after all,” Riario murmured, content in Leo’s arms.

                                                                             ***

They were by now only a day’s ride from Paris, both keenly observing the towns and villages, the architecture, the politics and the differences between life in Italy and in France. They had to rely on Riario’s highly adept Latin and Leo’s much lesser ability to communicate in the language for now, but both of them were learning more vernacular French by the day.

They talked of renting a small house with room for a workshop, and a servant or two, and of the Sorbonne, the great institute of learning. Both wanted to see the city’s famed churches - Leo for the architecture and Riario because he still hoped to include the Church in his life.

They arrived in a suburb of Paris and found a room. They would begin to explore and start looking for a house tomorrow. Both were in good spirits at having made the journey safely together. Tomorrow the city would be theirs to discover.

Since there was rarely any comfortable place to sit in the rooms they found themselves in, both had come to customarily sprawl on the bed, which by now they shared easily. Having eaten well, they had shed their boots and breeches and wore only the long white shirts that also functioned as nightwear.

“Once we have a house,” Da Vinci offered with a sly grin, “you can send a letter to the baker and his wife to ask about Marco and let them know where to contact us. I know you enough to know you would never have left him without such an agreement.”

Riario smiled in acknowledgment, then turned a questioning gaze to Da Vinci.

“ ‘Us’, _artista_? Are we then an ‘us’? I recall Zoroaster being very angry at the possibility that we were, and also because you did not consider the two of you to be so.”

Leo smiled. “As far as I’m concerned, we are.” He pressed kisses to his neck and shoulder and Riario closed his eyes and sighed with pleasure. As Leo continued to bestow the gentle kisses, he spoke.

“No one ever treated me gently, either in speech or touch. What I felt or wanted never mattered - I was a soldier of God and should do what I was told. When they wanted..relief from me, there was always a hidden threat of violence. Unkind, rough hands, pushing and pulling me. No gentleness, no kisses. Only fear and disgust, and then emptiness,” Riario confessed. “Your touch and your words make me feel,” he sighed.“You have made me _want_ to feel.”

“You can have all the kisses you want, all of me that you want; you only need to let me know you want them,” Leo whispered, nuzzling his neck.

“Yes.”

It was a simple word, but it meant much between them. Without further speech, Riario shrugged out of his own shirt, then reached for Da Vinci’s and pulled it off over his head. There was no longer any barrier between them.

Their bodies melted together. For a long while they only held to each other, relishing the feel of skin on skin, memorizing each other’s scent and musculature. Slowly, they began to touch and stroke and soothe each other. The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fireplace and the soft sighs of contentment that came from both of them.

“I’ve wanted to touch you like this for so long. I don’t want to stop,” Leo murmured, tracing Riario’s ribs, the well-formed muscles of his abdomen, and down to his navel with gentle fingers.

“I don’t want you to stop,” Riario sighed. “I feel as if I’ve been imprisoned and you have opened the door to my cell.” He shivered as Da Vinci bestowed soft butterfly kisses and nuzzles.

“I’m selfish. You do all to please me, and I have given you nothing in return. I never learned how to touch another with affection, or to please anyone with a loving hand.”

“Giró, if Marco was asked, I’m sure he’d say your touch was gentle and that he felt loved and safe in your arms. That you’re here with me - that you came to me when you needed someone, that has been your gift to me - your trust. Skill is rarely as valuable, or as desired, as true feeling,” Leo countered gently. “I know your intent. But I never want you to feel you must do something only to please me,” he stressed.

“What if pleasing you brings me pleasure? If pleasing you pleases me as well?” Riario asked.

“That,” Da Vinci smiled, “is as it should be.”

Riario moved towards Leo, pressing Da Vinci’s head to his breast, tentatively stroking his hair.

“I think..I may be happy,” he revealed, a hint of wonder in his voice, “I’ve never felt like this before. It’s peaceful, yet I also feel as if I could move mountains, if you are with me. Is that love? Something I did not expect to feel in my life. Unselfishness. Sweet pleasure in your company. Forgive me,” he sighed, “I babble.”

“Babble on,” Da Vinci murmured, “and feel free to practice.”

Riario chuckled softly. He pulled Leo close, caressing him somewhat awkwardly, but as Leo relaxed against him and responded, he let instinct take over. It was new and strange not to seek dominance or control by his actions, but simply to express his feelings. He was shy at first, but lost that shyness in Leo’s response.

His own urges had been so long unbidden and unwanted that he wasn’t at first conscious of being aroused. Da Vinci, he realized, was on the edge of no longer being able to suppress his body’s desire. Wanting very much to have Leo know what he was feeling, Riario thought back to his leap of faith at the exit from the Vault of Heaven. He had trusted Da Vinci then and he would trust him now.

Slowly, he began to caress his _artista’s_ body in a manner that would leave Da Vinci in no doubt as to his intentions. Leo groaned, falling onto his back.

“Are you sure, Giró?” he rasped.

“ _Sí_. _Certo_ , _spaventato_ , _e_ _pronto_ _a_ _cadere_ ,” Riario smiled. He dropped the soft kisses onto Da Vinci that the _artista_ had tenderly bestowed on him, to his face, his chest and belly; his mouth merged with the actions of his hands, nosing in the fine soft hair.

Because he had for so long felt that using his hands to pleasure someone was something he had to do as opposed to something he wished to do, it was somewhat difficult to transfer his emotions there; truly, Riario wished to speak with his mouth in all ways. He would, however, seek to overcome that limitation for his _artista_. Unconsciously, he made love to Leo in the ways his own body craved.

To Da Vinci the slow, gentle love was at once almost unbearable and amazingly tender, exquisitely intimate. He’d long understood the difference between fucking in lust and making love with someone you cared about. But what he felt for Riario was different, and went so deep that it was unfamiliar territory.

He whimpered as Giró’s mouth loved him. There was no conscious teasing, Riario wouldn’t think of it, at least at this stage in their physical relationship. He reached out to hold Riario’s head, to urge him further as he would with any lover, but stopped himself. Such a gesture might well bring forth unhappy memories.

“ _Perfetto_ ,” he gasped softly as Riario brought him ever closer. “ _Cosí_ _buono_.”

Once or twice Giró’s throat betrayed him, and he choked. Both lack of practice and agonizing memories were to blame. But this was happening because he wanted it to happen, he reminded himself. And Leo was as patient as he had always been with him. He was not being rejected for his clumsiness.

Even endearments, Leo realized, could be a trap. ‘My sweet boy’ - how often had that been said to a terrified, miserable or resentful young Giró?

As Leo grew restless in his arousal, more eager for completion, Riario felt flickers of his own wakening. Not, as he had felt in the past, shame at his weakness or disgust that he was no better than those who used him. This was a bright, shining desire with nothing to tarnish it. Zita’s love had allowed him glimpses of it, but Da Vinci had nurtured it and allowed it to grow. Perhaps, he could believe, he was ready to be loved.

In his hand he felt the tension in Leo’s balls, the first strong twitches of his cock that signaled impending eruption.

“Giró _mio_. Yes.”

Smiling, he took his _artista_ in his mouth once more, for what seemed like only seconds, until the beloved face revealed a grimace of pleasure, throwing his head back in relief. Riario tasted his issue with joy; the emptiness had gone, replaced by the heart of the man who loved him. He would never feel the shame, or the hollowness which had been his soul, again. He was loved, and he loved in return.

He fell onto Da Vinci, who put his arms around him and held him tightly. This brought his budding state of arousal to Da Vinci’s attention.

“Giró, do you want me to love you?”

“Yes. Very much. But I may disappoint you,” was the honest yet guarded response.

Leo let out the breath he was holding.

“That isn’t possible. I love you _just_ _as_ _you_ _are_ , Girólamo Riario. I love you,” Leo reassured him, “and that includes everything that has caused you pain and caused you to doubt yourself. Whoever you are, whatever you are, know that I love you and that’s all that matters between us.”

Riario raised his head to look into Da Vinci’s eyes.

“Do you trust me Giró?”

He nodded solemnly. “Yes. With all my heart, unaccustomed as it is.”

Leo smiled. He sat up slowly, cradling Riario to him, then lowering him onto his stomach. Despite Riario’s vow that he trusted him, Leo felt the tension in him at this position. He left the bed momentarily to find a small vial of oil he carried in his things. Bringing it back to the bed, he poured several drops into his palm to warm it. He leaned forward and rested both palms on Riario’s shoulders, letting the warmth sink in, before he stroked down across the muscles of his lower back, his thumbs applying pressure on tight muscles. Riaro groaned into the mattress with pleasure. But only a moment later, when Leo’s hands stroked over his buttocks, he couldn’t stop himself from tensing again, visibly. No matter how light or soothing the touch, Riario’s arousal was waning as his fear and discomfort increased. Leo stopped, resting his hand between Riario’s shoulders.

“Giró, it’s all right. What you’re thinking was not my intent. Knowing how you’ve suffered, I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t ever do it unless you asked me to. Oh Giró, I’m sorry. I should have thought - I’m sorry,” Da Vinci whispered over and over. He didn’t attempt to turn Riario to face him, he waited until he turned himself, looking shamefacedly up at Leo.

“I do trust you. But apparently in some ways my body’s memory still controls me. I cannot stop it. _I_ am sorry,” he sighed, laying his hand on Da Vinci’s arm.

“It’s not your fault. It will be all right,” Leo soothed. He took Riario’s head in his hands and dropped soft kisses there until he felt some of the tension leave Riario’s body. He kissed around the beautiful mouth - the upper lip, the corners, slow nibbles at the lower lip. As Riario relaxed a bit more and Leo felt his faint response, he pressed his lips directly over Giró’s - at first lightly, but with a gentle, ever-increasing pressure, teasing sweetly, until he felt rather than heard Giró moan, and his lips parted for the first real kiss between them.

Once begun, both were loathe to stop. Giró clutched at Leo to keep him from moving, coaxing him to deepen the kiss until neither could breathe.

“Better?” Leo whispered in his ear.

“Do it again,” Riario murmured against his neck, panting slightly. So Leo did, kissing him deeper and longer still, relieved to once again feel the evidence of Riario’s pleasure against his thigh.

Leo’s mouth moved wetly down to his chest and nipples. The more attention he gave the small buds the more restless Riario became, his hands clawing at the bedclothes. As Leo licked and sucked, the nubs became swollen and sensitive. Riario whimpered and whined, sinking into a vortex of sensation that had him arching his back in pleasure.

Da Vinci mouthed, tongued and nipped his way to the hollow of his hipbone. His fingertips followed the dip to brush through Giró’s curls, teasing gently. As his palm gently cupped swelling testes, Giró’s legs relaxed and his head fell back, his mouth opening in surrendering whimpers.

“You are so very beautiful,” Da Vinci murmured, mouth replacing fingers, his breath hot against Giró’s sex. Riario gasped and thrust his hips.

“Leo,” he moaned. “Leohhh.”

Although he used his hands as gentle aids, Leo was determined to bring him to orgasm with his mouth, the instrument that Giró saw as most expressive of true affection. He stroked slowly, cradling and rolling the now fully engorged dark orbs in his hand , reaching up to brush sweat-soaked hair back from Giró’s forehead.

When he judged by Riario’s unihibited responses and moans that he was close, Leo’s mouth closed over his taut member, tenderly sucking him to completion. Giró stiffened and groaned as Leo caught and swallowed the warm saltiness of his seed. Breathing heavily, he returned Riario’s now-depleted cock to rest between his thighs, strangely apprehensive as he allowed his gaze to return to Giró’s face.

His lover smiled a genuinely happy, untroubled smile. He reached up to hug Leo down to him in dreamy afterglow. Leo, who had feared they might never have such intimacy, lay totally relaxed in his arms. It had been worth every struggle and doubt to bring them to this.

“Thank you, _artista_ _mio_ , for your patience,” Riario murmured. “I needed to be loved in order to understand. You took away my fear and brought me peace in learning to trust. I still don’t understand your belief in me, but I know it has changed me. Love. Happiness. I thought never to have them. But I do, and I have _Ser_ Leonardo Da Vinci, dreamer and visionary _per_ _eccellenza_. It’s all I could wish for. More than I imagined.

“When you were ill and I thought I might lose you - I don’t remember being that frightened since I became a man,” Riario admitted. “I felt such hopeless fear that you would not live. And my dread was not about being alone on the road to Paris, but in no longer having you to love, and to love me and care for me as I knew at that moment I cared for you. I was also afraid you would never know my feelings.”

“I know them now, Giró _mio_ ,” Leo assured him, dropping a kiss to his shoulder. “I am yours as you are mine.” He smiled, then gave a great sigh. “Ohh, I’m so tired, I can’t move. Giró?”

“ _Si_ , _caro_ Leo,” Riario acknowledged, his heart full. He would do for Leo as Leo did so often for him; as he had done when Leo was ill. He slipped out of bed and went to close the window, then brought the candle to the bed and pinched it out before he left it on the floor. He got into bed again and pulled all of the bedclothes up around them, curving himself snuggly behind Leo, holding his lover firmly to him.

“ _Ti_ _amo_ , Giró,” Leo mumbled sleepily.

“ _Ti_ _amo_ _anch’io_ ,” Riario returned, smiling in the darkness, resting his cheek against Leo’s shoulder.

Two journeys, one of distance and one of love and trust, had ended. Now there would be a new journey. If they did not, as planned, wake early to explore the city - if they did not in fact leave their room all that day and part of the next - well, it had been a long, tiring journey after all, and they deserved to mark its end as they chose.

**Author's Note:**

> Il viaggio - the journey  
> Come ti chiami, bambino - what’s your name, little one  
> Sí. Certo, spaventato, e pronto a cadere - Yes. Certain, frightened, and ready to fall  
> Perfetto - perfect  
> Cosi buono- so good  
> Ti amo anch’io - I love you too  
> Caro - dear


End file.
